The Trials of Ratchet
by AutobotGuy710
Summary: AU. Prime. After being released from a juvenile detention center, Ratchet struggles to find a place where he fits in. But as an orphan without a home, friends, or a caste, that seems hopeless. Until he finds himself employed as a clerical assistant to one of Cybertron's best medics, Siren. A mech who, along with his mate, takes him in and sets him on the road towards his destiny.
1. PROLOGUE: A Broken Childhood

A/N: So I've been mulling over this thought for a while. And I have decided to write this prequel to A Spark of Hope. The Ratchet I present there ended up having a unique backstory for the character I thought. So I figured, what the heck? Why not give it a shot!

Be gentle, this is my first origin story. You really don't have to have read what I've written of "A Spark of Hope" so far to follow as this is literal centuries before that. But if you like it, hopefully you'll want to check it out as well!

Also, the caste system will work a BIT differently since I'm adding younglings to this. Just a heads up. Namely, how one becomes part of a caste or can become part of one is changed.

And a big thanks to my beta, **sidekicks-anonymous** , for her work on this chapter!

 **SOME WARNINGS:** The prologue will contain child abuse, violence, and VERY dark themes, as well as involve a Juvenile Detention center. And it will be talked about throughout the fic. This is just fair warning because Ratchet's beginnings are not pretty.

PAIRINGS: OCxOC (Siren and Mixplate), IronhidexChromia

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Transformers, that's Hasbro/Takara. I do however make claim to the OCs in this fic.

...

 **PROLOGUE  
A Broken Childhood  
**

Ratchet could taste his own Energon as he hit the ground.

He was six vorns old, barely at the age where a youngling started proper schooling. But unlike most, the bullies he was facing now weren't at school. They were at home. The sharp kick he got next rattled his body. He let out a sharp cry. His sire didn't care though; he never seemed to care. Between the high grade and his temper, Stonefist was a brutal mech when angry.

Cold blue optics bore down on him, and a large black hand reached down to haul the white youngling off the ground. Carrier didn't help either as she stood in the kitchen in their small, disgustingly dirty apartment, treating herself to her own batch of high grade. Ratchet's only comfort was that he could hear his three-vorn-old brother, First Aid, screaming for their sire to stop. He wished Aid wouldn't, though, Ratchet knew if he kept that up, he'd be next.

"Aid, don't!" Ratchet spat out. "Stop!"

Stonefist smirked, almost in an amused manner as he turned to the younger of his creations. Ratchet felt himself drop to the ground, feeling powerless. "You know what your fragged-up excuse for a brother did, don't you? He stole from me!" He snapped. "Stealing is illegal!"

"I was hungry! It was just one Energon Cube, sire!" Ratchet shouted back, trying to take the attention off of First Aid.

Stonefist turned his head, a scowl on his face. "You know we can't afford for you to NOT ration! What do I look like you pit spawn? A credit factory!? Do you want your carrier to starve!?" Ratchet flinched at the amount of anger in his sire's voice. "You need to learn some slagging principals! I didn't bring you into this world for you to take advantage of me!"

Ratchet backed up slowly as his sire again turned on him. His optics welling up with coolant, and fear. But at least, he figured, little First Aid would be spared a beating today. "Teacher says I'm underfed, she's been worried about me." Ratchet tried to argue, his voice becoming smaller and more fearful. "Please sire, just a little more. Aid's barely-"

 _SLAP!_

Ratchet cried in pain as his head hit the ground, sharp and hard. His processor was on the fritz, and he could hear his carrier frantically chastising his sire in response. "You fragging idiot! Don't kill them! Do you want to go to the stockade!? This is the fifth time this vorn we're going to have to take him in to the hospital if he hit that hard enough!" Her voice was shrill and angry.

Never once did she express concern for the fact that her youngling is laying on the floor, with Energon flowing out of a helm wound. Only concern for the trouble that they could get in if someone found out.

* * *

Eventually, they abandoned them.

It took Ratchet and First Aid two weeks to come to this conclusion. It wasn't the first time they'd disappeared for several days, so at first, they thought it was no different. That was, until Enforcers came to their door, looking for their sire in regards to a murder. At that point, Ratchet knew he was gone - and never coming back. First Aid was too young to really know the full ramifications of what happened, but at eight vorns old now, Ratchet did.

Luckily, the first foster home they were placed in ended up being a good one. Ratchet, however, was having none of it. People had already labeled him an angry youngling, and who could blame him? He'd spent the past eight years being treated like garbage. Suffering daily beatings, barely getting enough Energon to keep his systems working, sleeping on the floor... He hated it. He hated it, and what's more, he hated his creators for ever having him in the first place.

In his first foster home, he acted out this anger in a violent manner. At first, the foster creators were understanding, trying to help him quell it. The first few things he broke, he was sent to his berth room for. But as he became increasingly angry, and violent, his foster creators became overwhelmed. Eventually, after three months in the home, they called his case worker and asked that she take Ratchet to a different home.

First Aid didn't want to leave him, and Ratchet didn't want to leave First Aid. But with the harsh Caste System in place, his social worker was extremely cold on the subject. First Aid's getting adopted by the couple, she told Ratchet. They're part of a high caste, and if they took his brother away, Ratchet would have ruined his chances at a better life. Ratchet cries coolant again, uncontrollable this time.

First Aid was the only family he ever cared about. And now, he wouldn't see him again. Not until they were adults, at least, but that last part was something he had no way of knowing.

First Aid was lucky, he figured. Most people in the high caste's wouldn't dare take in someone from the slums. But in hindsight, Ratchet would think back on that home, and realize he was the one who blew it. Unlike the other high caste members, they were good, kind people. People that would give First Aid a life that Ratchet could have only dreamed about.

As for Ratchet, he'd spend the next 4 vorns bouncing from one home to the other. Most of them in the poor sectors, and rarely as nice as the one that he'd been first sent to.

He picked every fight he could get himself into. Short kids, big kids, violent ones, timid ones. Ratchet's anger only grew the more homes he was kicked out of. But he didn't fully understand the consequences of what he was doing, not until he got into a fight with the biological mechling of a high caste family he'd been placed with.

* * *

He'd never been so scared in his life.

The court had found giving a sentenc very easy. Ratchet had beaten the mechling above his caste- he hadn't hurt him bad, but he was still asking for it. Caste meant everything, and Ratchet had not only blown it with that family, but with any hope of another family. Because the sentencing itself is very clear: Ratchet was to spend his last six vorns as a youngling in a Youth Detention Facility. Never to be allowed out on early parole, and his rights to be adopted terminated until he is eighteen vorns.

Ratchet knew his chances of being adopted as an adult were beyond slim and none.

The facility was even more brutal than the home Ratchet was created in. The younglings were bigger, crueler, and even more violent than Ratchet. On his first night there, Ratchet spent his night in the medical bay because his "cell-mate" had not taken too kindly to him. It's on that same night that Ratchet decided this was not the life he wanted to live when he got out of the facility.

The thought of becoming as violent and territorial as the older younglings petrified him. He wanted to be a good mech, a mech that people would like. One that would ultimately have friends, something that he was sorely missing in life.

So he spent the next six vorns there keeping his helm down. He watched day in and day out as younglings came and went. For some, "going" meant having their offlined protoform taken back to wherever they came from, social services or otherwise.

When he was fourteen vorns old, he was forced to watch as two inmates beat the ten-vorn old in the cell across from him to death. He never found out exactly what the child did, the stories all differed depending on who he asked. But the true fear came to him when a social worker and a coroner arrived. "We should figure out what do with the remains of this one. His frame seems healthy." The coroner noted darkly.

"Well, that's up to the council to decide. But he IS healthy." The social worker quipped. "Personally, given he was the youngling of a miner... And he has no kin, fictive or otherwise, hey should strip him down for spare parts. I'm sure someone of more value to society could use them."

Ratchet trembled quietly in his cell, fear running into overdrive. Would this be how they discussed his remains if he died in this place? Did younglings without families really mean so little to the council that they would cannibalize what was left of them? He felt powerless to stop it, and even more determined to make it out of there alive and turn his life around. He had to...he didn't want to become a violent criminal, and he didn't want to be spare parts, either.

In that moment, all Ratchet can do though is pray to Primus he will get through it.

* * *

He made it to eighteen vorns.

When he was released from the Juvenile Detention Center, he was no longer a ward of Iacon. He was now on his own, a fully grown mech who has received a hand-me-down adult frame, installed by a prison medic. He's even more scared when they lead him outside the gates, and dump everything he owned in two large "garbage bags" on either side of him.

Unlike other younglings released on that day, he had no loved one waiting for him. He didn't even have the by-now-familiar face of his social worker there to greet him. Now that he was an adult, the council deemed he was his own problem, and it was his job to find himself a place to belong - and a caste to belong in. The thought terrified him, but none-the-less, he knew he had to do it.

He walked for some time, not yet having gotten his license for an alt mode. People stared at him on the streets of Iacon as he simply searched for somewhere, anywhere to rest his head for a while. Finally he found a deserted building, deep in the slums, where it appeared that no one was currently staying. He entered, ignoring the notice of eviction. There's still some furniture inside, which meant he couldn't stay there long, but for now desperate times called for desperate measures.

So, just for the night, he curled up into a ball on top of a dirty, dust-covered berth. And as his optics offlined, he couldn't help but wonder, and worry, what would become of him.

...

A/N: I decided to make the prologue snapshots of his life pre-release because the story really begins from here. So it seemed like it would be weird to spend chapters and chapters getting to the actual plot of the story. I hope you enjoyed this first chapter!


	2. Unexpected Kindness

A/N: Thanks to my awesome beta **sidekicks-anonymous** for her work on this chapter as usual!

...

 **CHAPTER 1  
Unexpected Kindness**

"Listen, I'm a hard worker, I-."

"Your creator was a factory worker, and you're an ex-inmate. Do you realize the risk I would take hiring you? Let alone having to help you integrate into my caste?"

Ratchet stood there at the door to the Hall of Records, his hand shaking a bit. He was trying his best not to let his anger get the better of him, but after three weeks of this he was growing tired of this. No one wanted to give him a chance, or the time of day no matter what argument he made. They looked at him, and all they saw was a low caste orphan who had been to Juvenile Hall. Neither of those things screamed someone any of them wanted to take into their caste and employ.

"Sir, please. If you give me a chance, I promise not to let you down." Ratchet pleaded. "You're my fifth attempt this week."

The mech regarded him sharply, standing there for a long moment. "What's your alt mode?"

Ratchet gaped, had he really just asked him that? Sure, he had finally gotten his license a week ago, and could finally use his natural one... But it was definitely not something that would look good driving into work. "It's... It's a truck sir. But I can easily scan something more suiting of a data clerk." The mech started to wave him off. "Sir, please. If I don't find someone to vouch for me entering training into a caste soon... They'll force me to work in the mines."

"What do you care? What do you have to live for?"

The door slammed shut in his face, yet again leaving him out in the cold. He wondered if things might have gone differently, had the head of the Hall of Records, Alpha Trion been in. But in all honesty, he didn't have time to speculate on what could have been right now. Instead, he gave the door a sharp kick, and let some of that built up anger out. "Yeah! Well frag you too, you pit-spawned glitch!" He shouted. "You haven't heard the last of me! You'll regret it!"

Ratchet didn't believe a word he'd just said, but it'd still made him feel better to say it. He made his way back down the steps of the building, trying his best not to feel all too discouraged. But it was hard not to, given he had spent the time since leaving the abandoned building recharging under a bridge. A part of him actually might have preferred being in the Juvenile Detention Center, in a way, given at least there he had a roof over his head, and a berth, no matter how uncomfortable.

As he walked down the sidewalk, he watched the better-off mechs quietly. It was embarrassing, walking around looking as he did, among people that were better off. Most younglings like him might have resigned to the life that they were said to be destined for: a factory worker, gladiator, or a miner. But Ratchet didn't want any of those things for himself. He wanted a better life. Perhaps not like the one that First Aid was probably living as they spoke, but none-the-less better than being treated as lower than dirt.

Ratchet went over his last stop, this one being an actual interview. A clerical, entry-level position in a small hospital in the middle-caste sector of Iacon. The mech who ran it, Siren, was said to be one of the best in the field. But he had opened applications up to anyone with a hunger to learn and a good helm on their shoulders. Ratchet figured he only took his application, and gave him a call for an interview to keep up appearances. Especially given Ratchet was not experienced in medical practice, nor had he shown any interest in it in the past.

But he also knew he had to explore any option afforded to him. The only other way into a certain caste, after all, was Iacon Academy. And while he'd been before he was incarcerated, the "university" level classes he'd have to take cost credits. More credits than he'd ever seen in his life.

And so he walked the five miles to that small hospital without any more thought. He was thankful to be reminded of how welcoming and inviting it looked, with the brightly colored exterior, and its less-than-intimidating size. Even once he'd stepped inside again, the place seemed bright and cheery. Though Ratchet didn't totally know what to make of that, it was still better than most of the hospitals he'd been to as both a sparkling and youngling.

"Ah, you're early." Ratchet jumped out of his plating at the sound of a soft, baritone voice. "I like mechs that make it a point to be on time or early. I assume you are my applicant, Ratchet?"

Ratchet turned towards the voice. He'd left his application with a secretary, so this was the first time he'd met Siren himself. The mech that came out of the adjacent doorway towered over Ratchet. His plating was a bright cherry red, and his soft blue optics betrayed a gentle nature to the otherwise intimidating mech. He must have been older, Ratchet guess around sixty vorns, given he appeared to be in his third adult frame.

He shifted nervously, but nodded. "Yes, sir. That would be me." Ratchet replied. "And before you say anything, no, I am not getting out. I know my appearance is not the best, but I was told I have just as much right as anyone else to apply." He stated, so tired of being turned away that he didn't care how it sounded.

Siren looked him over, taking in the sight of the youngling quietly. Ratchet was about five feet shorter than him, with a faded red and white paint scheme that desperately needed a touch up. So indeed, he didn't exactly look like a middle caste mech, but... "Of course you do. As someone with no assigned caste, that is your right." Siren explained. "As for your appearance, I see nothing wrong with it. Especially not for a mech with your history."

"You... Know my history?"

"We did thorough background checks, yes." Siren nodded slowly. "And you have... Dare I say, quite the history. Though I assure you, not nearly as bad as some others. I've seen people come through who went to the stockades as younglings, and didn't leave until they were far older than you."

Ratchet shuddered. Being a Juvenile version of the Stockade was bad enough. The thought of going into the actual thing as a youngling though? What could anyone have done to deserve that? "Yeah, well, if you knew the slag I saw, you'd be in one too. It's a mech-eat-mech world out there. I had to fight to survive it."

Siren looked pointedly at Ratchet, humming quietly. "If you work for me, that won't do. If I'm vouching for you to join the Science Caste as a trainee, I'd be taking you into the high caste. Even if we work in a middle caste sector. Do you understand that?" Ratchet nodded his head in response. "Very good, then we should have no further problems in this interview. If you'll follow me, please."

Ratchet was surprised that Siren didn't throw him out after what he said. Would this mech really consider him, knowing his history of violence? He'd half-expected the science caste to turn him away once they found out who he was. But all the same, he followed the mech down a hallway and into a large, gorgeous office. It was here that Ratchet got the feeling that Siren was higher caste, just from the expensive metals his furniture was made of. "Alright then, Ratchet, have a seat." Ratchet didn't hesitate to take one in front of the desk, his optics still scanning the room. "I'll start this off easy. I've read your records, but tell me a little about yourself."

Ratchet blinked. A little about himself? He thought it over for a minute. How much was he willing to share with a mech he'd known all of five minutes? "Well, not a lot to tell, I guess. I was a foster kid, and born into the low castes. My creators... They ran out on my brother and I when I was eight vorns." He explained.

"You have a brother then? Younger or older? Does he live with you?"

"Younger. But I haven't seen him since my first three months in the system. He was adopted by someone in the science caste himself. I don't remember their names." Ratchet replied honestly. That much he was willing to share. "My social worker gave me monthly updates until I was ten vorns. His family moved, and I haven't heard about him since."

He could see the pang of sympathy in Siren's optics. It was an action he tried to ignore;he was tired of seeing that. "I'm very sorry. It's terrible that the system splits up spark siblings in such a manner."

Ratchet grunted. "It was my fault, really. They were going to adopt us both, but I didn't trust them. I fought with them, and frankly I just... I was angry, very angry." He paused a moment. "What does this have to do with the job, sir? If you want to know more important matters, I'm not educated very well. I was in a facility for so long, and they would not pay for schooling. But I can read and write at the same level as anyone my age."

Siren balked at the outburst, but clearly could see the hurt in Ratchet's optics. Clearly, his brother was a subject that was best left off the table. "Well, that's good. Because it is clerical work, so that is at least necessary. Though... A lack of education can hurt you for this job." He explained. "Perhaps if you were still in Iacon Academy..."

"I can learn! And when I've saved up enough credits from working here, I'll go." Ratchet burst out, surprising Siren with his lack of hesitation. "Honestly sir, I'm desperate enough to get myself off the streets that I'll fragging do anything. And sure, that includes going to the mines, or a factory like my sire. But I also know the life expectancy for someone there without a family looking out for them."

Siren stroked his chinplate quietly. "You live on the streets then?"

Ratchet was silent, slouching in the chair. "Unlike some orphans, I didn't have anything to my name when I was out. I do what I can to get by." He paused for a long moment.

That seemed to hit Siren harder than anything else he'd said. Ratchet wasn't sure what the look he had was, but he got a feeling it was something along the lines of pity. "You'll need the pay you get then for survival, not education. I would never ask you to spend it on education, as important as that is." Siren was silent. "How old are you, again, Ratchet?"

Ratchet was silent for a long moment. "I just turned eighteen vorns a week before my release, sir."

Siren stood to his feet, and crossed over to put a hand on the youngling. "You're a brave mech, coming here with no home, and a record looking for work. So I want to give you a chance, both because I believe everyone deserves a second chance, and more importantly, you're barely a mech. I would rather not be responsible for you being out there and dying of starvation, or in the mines."

"You're offering me the job?" Ratchet asked in surprise.

Siren nodded his head slowly, but then said something that surprised Ratchet. "On one condition. I won't hire a homeless mech. So I'm asking that you take my offer of a place to live. My sparkmate and I have a spare room, I'll rent it out to you for five credits a month." He explained.

"Five credits a month?" Ratchet asked. "I, uh, that's incredibly cheap. I don't-."

"I'm aware. But do you think someone in my position needs rent money? Hardly. I simply doubt you'll come for free, so I'm making a compromise." Siren explained, honestly. "Once we get the paperwork done, you'll be a Science Caste Trainee, so the council can say nothing about it. We will now be on equal footing."

Ratchet looked at him, shifting a bit. "Why would you do that for me?" He asked. "I'm not going to work for free. Or do slave labor if that's what you're asking for in return." He replied skeptically.

"I'm not asking for that. But twenty-five credits an hour is hardly enough to get you a place close by. And frankly... It'd feel wrong having you come to this sector every day, then going home to the streets or whatever you could get at night." Siren admitted. "In my optics, you're still a youngling. So allow me to help you with housing arrangements."

Ratchet looked at Siren with doubt. He was unsure of what to make of the mech's offer. Was he serious? "I don't need charity, sir. I can make the commute, and I'll find a place of my own." Ratchet replied. "I just need time."

Siren looked at him, but then shook his head. "I must insist. You come to work for me, you take up residence nearby. And since it's unreasonable to expect you to afford something in the middle or higher sectors, it would seem I'm your only choice." He explained.

Ratchet couldn't tell why this mech cared so much. He was going to be nothing but a glorified intern to him, yet here he was, offering him shelter. He paused a long moment, tapping the side of the armrest. His optics scanned the mech for some time, trying to make his choice.

* * *

"You look like you're starving. Let me get you a fresh cube of Energon."

Ratchet blinked in surprise as the femme said those words. Siren's sparkmate, Mixplate, had only had him in her home for ten minutes when she said it. For Ratchet, it was odd to be treated with such kindness, but he already had the feeling she was one of those types that wanted to help. He'd met a few like her, though none had been as sincere as she seemed, nor as kind looking.

She was a well built femme, with a pink and blue plating. Her soft blue optics matched her bonded's, though that was no surprise given they were in the high caste. Her age was clearer than Siren's, but she still looked quite well for being her age. In general she gave off very inviting vibes, and despite his better judgement, Ratchet was inclined to at least put a little trust in her.

"You don't have to do that m'am. I'm only a boarder in your home. I can... I can find my own way to get Energon." Ratchet stammered a bit.

Siren put his hands on Ratchet's shoulders. For a minute, the younger mech had forgotten the older one was standing behind him. But as if to tell him it wasn't optional, he carefully led Ratchet to a seat at their kitchen table and made him sit. "Ratchet, it would seem to me you haven't refueled in close to a week, correct?" Ratchet blinked, opening his mouth. "I read your readings, son. You're dangerously low on fuel, and you won't be paid for at least two weeks. Let us share our Energon with you."

Ratchetavoided the other mech's gaze out of embarrassment, instead, he focused on the kitchen. It was definitely a high caste home, that much was obvious. Their kitchen was twice the size of the apartment he was sparked in, with the nicest metals credits could buy. Their table was huge too, which meant he could only imagine what their dining room table looked like. These sparkmates were so well off that even his high caste foster families homes didn't compare to theirs.

He was brought out of his thoughts as an Energon cube slid across the table to him. His optics stared between the older couple, as he wondered for the fifth time if this was some sort of trick. Would the Energon be poisoned, he wondered? After a moment, he guessed he should take it anyway. What did it matter if it was, he figured. He had nothing to really live for these days.

And so, with all the table manners of a turbofox, he chugged the Energon cube. Chugged it until he nearly made himself purge from drinking so fast. After a moment, he set the Energon cube down again, now empty, noticing the look of surprise on both of their faceplates. Again, Ratchet was embarrassed, but he hadn't had a full cube of mid-grade in so long; too long.

"I'm sorry, I just-."

"Don't be, you were just hungrier than I expected." Siren commented calmly. "Would you like another?"

Ratchet was silent, his optics looking between them again. Needless to say, he took another one, and another after that. Though he took the other two slower than the first. And though he felt bad doing so, he also could feel his energy returning, as well as his strength. "You're really too kind to a mech you just met." Ratchet finally spoke up, as he looked at Siren, whom was preparing his own meal. "You're aware of that, right?"

"And why is that? Because I treat someone with kindness? You've clearly spent too much time with members of our caste that treat lower caste members like trash." Siren explained, his voice filled with honesty. "We are all Primus' younglings. And you are not the first desperate mech I have gone out of my way to help - though you are by far the youngest."

"Why, though?" Ratchet asked, curiously. "What do you get out of it?"

Siren chuckled as if the young mech had asked him something amusing. "You say that like I expect to get anything out of it. I'm an old mech, with plenty of room in my home, and a caring spark. And to be more frank, my creators raised me to be generous." Siren explained, his optics bearing down on Ratchet. "It makes me happy to help people."

Ratchet paused a moment. "You were going to try and "help" me whether you hired me or not, weren't you?"

That got him a smirk from the mech, who raised his optic ridges. "You could say that. I wasn't about to let a mechling barely in his adult frame leave there homeless. That, Ratchet, is an issue of morality." He then added. "Anyone with a spark wouldn't let that happen."

Ratchet didn't understand his logic. Plenty of mechs and femmes lived on the streets of the slums. Why was he so special? Why did this couple care so much? Or was it simply that he had been in the right place, at the right time? He didn't know, but for some reason, Ratchet thought he could see some other reason betraying Siren in the way he looked at him.

Mixplate cleared her throat, grabbing both of their attentions. "I think we should lay some ground rules before we go much further. You seem like a nice young mech, but there always has to be rules... Even with the overgrown sparkling over there." She nodded at Siren.

"Don't let her make you too nervous. Though I'd start bringing those cubes to the sink." Siren chuckled.

Ratchet didn't give a response, as he was already used to rules. His whole life had revolved around them, so he truly doubted these would be much different. All the same, he did move to bring the cubes to the sink. "That's rule one. Everyone cleans up their own cubes. I'm not a maid bot here, I hope you understand that." Ratchet simply nodded. "Try not to stay out too late. We're older so we like to recharge before the early morning hours. I hope you can understand that."

Ratchet shook his head. "I don't stay out late anyway. I don't have a reason to, m'am." He replied rinsing out the first of his cubes.

"Now that you're in a caste, you're going to make friends. And at your age it's logical to stay out late some nights. We're simply asking you don't come in, say, when the sun is coming up." Ratchet shrugged, somewhat doubting he could find himself making very many friends. "Because lastly is that our day starts early anyway. You can leave for work with me, so we'll be heading in around six in the morning. So it's not good for your health either."

Six... In the morning? Ratchet cringed, he really didn't like the sound of it. But he wasn't going to argue either. These people did seem to be as nice as they appeared. And what's more, they were offering him a roof over his head, a fact which he couldn't blow if he wanted to survive. "That all?" He asked non-nonchalantly. As they both nodded, he snorted. "Wow, you made it sound like they would be worse. You do know I just came from a juvenile detention center, right?"

"Ah, that's right. There is one more rule." Ratchet blinked as Siren spoke. "We're offering you a second chance here, Ratchet. But I ask you don't take advantage of that. First and foremost all we really ask of you is that you do your best to stay out of trouble. Or at least the kind of trouble that could land you in a stockade."

Ratchet tensed a bit, but knew it was an honest comment. He did have to keep himself out of trouble, he knew that. And while he intended to never do anything to land himself in a stockade, he understood their concern. Taking a deep breath, he looked between them. "You have my word." Ratchet nodded his head. "Now, thank you for your kindness, both of you. But I think I need to recharge myself. It was a long day."

Mixplate nodded her head slowly. "Alright then, follow me."

As he did just that, Ratchet again hoped these people truly could be trusted.


	3. Touch-Up

A/N: Thanks as usual to my beta, **sidekicks-anonymous** , for her work on this chapter.

Thanks so much for everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, and followed! Your warm response means a lot to me!

GUEST: Thanks so much! I hope you continue to enjoy it. :)

...

 **CHAPTER 2**  
 **Touch-Up**

"So, how much do you actually know about the medical field?"

,Ratchet grimaced a little as he looked away from Siren. He wished that the older mech hadn't asked him that, because he knew he was going to sound bad. None-the-less, he thought quietly about how to respond to the mech's question as they stood in his office. "Well I um... You see, sir..." Ratchet tried to stammer out his words.

"You know close to nothing, do you?" Siren asked, to which Ratchet nodded his head in defeat. "That's alright, youngling. Give it a few orns, you'll probably catch on quicker than you think. For now, we'll just get you started with the basics."

"The basics?" Ratchet asked curiously.

Siren chuckled, pulling something out of his desk. "General data filling, patient intake, perhaps answering a few comm calls for me." Siren explained. "I'll let the mech that will be training you handle the rest of it, given we've hired you to replace him. He'll be happy to help, I think."

Ratchet paused. So he wouldn't be training under Siren? He guessed it was silly to believe he would, on second thought. The only reason he'd train under a medic was if he were going to be one himself. He wasn't entirely sure that was his thing. "I suppose that's alright. Though, if you don't mind me asking, who will I be training with?"

"That would be me."

Ratchet turned towards the doorway to Siren's office. Almost immediately, he felt his breath catch in his metal throat, attempting to not panic. The mech was probably among the tallest he'd ever seen, with a large, muscular red frame to match. He peered at him with blue optics, and tried not to chuckle at the smaller mech's surprise. "So this is the new trainee, huh? Heh, looks like you could use a paint job." He spoke with a young-ish voice, surprising Ratchet greatly. "Let me know if ye need one, I got a mech for that."

"Ironhide." Siren warned calmly, at which the mech stopped. "Ratchet, this is Ironhide. He's the best clerical assistant I've had for years. But he's decided to go to Iacon Academy for a degree in his sire's station, in the weapon's building division. You'll be taking over for him."

Ironhide grinned, his optics lighting up. Ratchet got the feeling that he was trying to look friendly, but he still seemed intimidating. "Don't let my frame frighten you too much. I'm not too violent if you don't frag me off." He chuckled. "Yeah, being in the medical field was fun for a while, but I've been designing my own weapons since I was the size of a scraplet. Just like my old mech."

"Your sire designs weapons, then?"

"Sort of. He does it still, yeah, but he also runs the entire weapons building division." Ironhide pointed out proudly. "I'm sure you've heard of him, Titan. Or my grandsire, Kup. He's even better known given he was a war hero and all. Got a kind of famous family."

Ratchet hadn't heard of Titan, but he had heard of Kup. Cybertron had fought in few combats, and he'd forgotten the war Kup had fought in, but he was a legend. "Wow, that's pretty cool." Ratchet replied, rubbing the back of his helm.

"Yeah, what do your creators do?"

Ratchet was silent, uncertain of how to respond to that. After a moment, Siren looked ready to speak up for him, so he finally answered. "I don't know what they do anymore. My creators ran out on me when I was eight, and my sire terminated a mech." Ironhide looked surprised at that. "But before that, my sire was a factory worker and my carrier was unemployed."

Ratchet knew the truth would come out eventually. So why not air it out now? He had nothing to hide, after all. Everyone here would know his past one way or another.

"'Ey, don't look so sorry for yourself. I have a friend who was adopted into our caste who had it even worse." Ironhide told him, slapping Ratchet on the back. "The past may make the mech, but the harder the past, the stronger ya are. That's what grandsire's always told me."

Ratchet couldn't help but smile at that. Still, he could feel himself tensing a little more. Who knew if any of these high caste Cybertronians were being sincere, or if they were planning to trick and humiliate him. "Yeah, well, it's alright. I'm not ashamed, it's made me tougher for it." Ratchet agreed. "Though you're right about the paint job. It came with the adult frame that... Well..." He paused. Did he say the center?

Ironhide didn't seem to catch ont. "Hey, it's nothing a touch up can't fix. I'll take ya after work to this nice shop owned by my friend."

Ratchet raised his optic ridges. "What? You're friends with an artist?"

Ironhide snorted a bit, crossing his arms slowly. "Why? Because I'm high up means I can't make friends with who I want? I don't care about what mechs think, they can kiss my fragging aft." Siren shot a warning glance again. "Sorry, Siren, pardon my choice of words. But it's true."

Ratchet didn't know what to make of that attitude at all. Of any of their attitudes, for that matter. He knew they had to be a minority of the high caste if they were serious, but it still surprised him. "I've just never heard of mechs or femmes in the high caste treating anyone below them well. Except if they adopt, but that's because they know the kid'll be in their caste." He then added. "Or are you only treating me like this because I'm in yours now?"

"Didn't I just tell you I'm friends with an artist? That's as middle caste as it gets." Ironhide seemed mildly offended by the statement. "Another friend of mine's family works in our weapons factory. Hardest workin' mech I've ever met. So don't go accusing me of discriminating. I'll have you know that I'm the last mech to do it."

Ironhide turned around, and exited the room, seeming flustered. When Ratchet turned to look to Siren for an explanation, the older mech sighed. "Not all high castes believe themselves above others. Ironhide's grandsire Kup faced his own adversity when young. He was created by mining-caste parents." Ratchet's face fell. Siren continued. "It was only when he was drafted into the Quintesson War and became a heroic sergeant that they welcomed him into the high castes. Then his own sire had to prove himself intelligent enough to be a part of the science caste at all, since his sire was known as a Military Leader. Most thought he was a military brat."

Ratchet tried to speak, but found himself unable to. Knowing Ironhide's family came from humble beginnings did open his optics, if only a smidge. Though he couldn't imagine going from mining, to military, to high-caste military leader like Kup had. The thought of going to the science caste from having no caste at all had been scary enough.

"I... Had no idea." Ratchet admitted.

Siren nodded, looking thoughtfully at the young mech. "Few mechs work their way into castes these days unless they're like you, which is probably why it didn't occur to you." He explained. "No one is like Kup anymore. You're born into a level of caste and you stay there, whether you change functions or not."

Ratchet was silent for a moment. "Were you part of the lower caste?" He asked.

Siren shook his head. "No, I simply was not raised to look down upon others." He explained, with a small smile. "I come from a family of higher caste members. But that doesn't make me any better than even the poorest miner."

Ratchet blinked again. "You're strange." He replied honestly.

"Maybe. But I don't think you should be complaining." Siren nodded. "Now follow Ironhide, and apologize."

Ratchet paused a moment. "Apologize? It's my nature to feel wary of mechs who -"

"It's your nature, but it doesn't make you any more right." Ratchet paused a moment at the words of Siren, taking them in. "I may not be your sire. But I am taking care of you, and am far older to you, so I'm going to give you a piece of advice anyway. Ironhide's a good mech, and you'd do right to make friends with him. So apologize."

Ratchet grunted, not sure how to respond to that. "Fine." He groaned.

He went to meet the mech again outside.

* * *

Turns out, Ironhide would only accept his apology if he let him prove he was a good mech to him.

Ratchet didn't know why it mattered exactly. But all the same, at the insistence of Siren, he agreed to follow Ironhide to the office of his artist friend. Given he was middle caste, it wasn't a long walk from the office as they left that night. Though Ratchet really didn't care, it felt like joors as he followed Ironhide towards what he was almost certain was a trap.

Not for the first time, he was proven wrong.

Eventually, they'd made their way to a small painting garage. It was big, with a bright sign that read "THRUSTER'S BODY SHOP" above it. The building was brightly colored, and seemed inviting. Still, Ratchet couldn't help but feel a little nervous as Ironhide approached the door, opening it. "Do I really have to see a mech I don't know for a touch-up to earn your forgiveness?" Ratchet questioned. "I don't feel right taking a hand-out."

Ironhide huffed, looking at the mech with narrowed optics. "You questioned if I'm a good mech or not. And that bothers me. Sure, I forgive ya if it means that much to you that I do it now. But I still insist you let me show you that mechs in the high caste can be sincere." He explained, pushing Ratchet roughly through the door. "I'm training ya, so I can't let you continue not to trust me."

Ratchet stiffened as they stood in the large, steel colored interior of the garage. He crossed his armst, staring around at the different paints lining the walls, and the different color schemes on display. "You're gonna learn quickly that I don't trust anyone easy. You may not have been in foster care, but I was." He explained. "And it hurt my ability to trust more than a lot of mechs or femmes care to understand."

"If it makes ya feel any better... We had some rough times too." Ironhide paused a long moment as he started that sentence. "I lost my carrier and older brother when I was six vorns old. They died in a crash on the way home one night." He explained.

Ratchet suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for Ironhide. Especially given he had mentioned a brother of his own, a brother he had lost. "I can relate to losing your brother." Ratchet replied quietly.

"Why? Did you have a brother that died?"

Ratchet cringed. He was glad that wasn't the case, though he guessed he couldn't be sure. He hadn't seen First Aid in so long... "No, he, uh... He was adopted by a family that kicked me out." Ratchet responded honestly. "I haven't seen him since I entered foster care for the first time."

"You could probably track him down now that you're of age." Ironhide replied.

Ratchet shook his head solemnly. "Wouldn't know where to start. They moved away while I was still in care, no one would tell me anything." He replied honestly, his voice tense. "Besides the family was really good to him, and really affluent. I wouldn't want to ruin that for him by barging into his life."

Ironhide looked ready to respond when a shout grabbed both of their attentions. "That you, 'Hide!? Don't tell me you got into another fight again. I can only do so many touch-ups!" Ratchet turned his head as a mech appeared from a back room. "Oh slag, it's worse than I thought. You brought your opponent!"

Ratchet gave the mech a once over. His looks were surprising The mech was tall and slender, with blue and silver plating, and golden optics. Different, colorful designs lined his plating, and his finish gleamed so brightly you could see your reflection in it. He looked Ratchet over a bit, then at Ironhide. "What did you do to the poor mech? His whole frame's a mess too!"

Before Ratchet could defend himself, Ironhide spoke up. "Sorry to bother ya, Thruster. Not an opponent this time, actually. A new friend, from the lower castes." Ironhide motioned. "This is Ratchet. I'm gonna be paying for him to get a full touch-up. He's going to be joining the science caste, and I don't want him walking around embarrassed like he is."

Thruster gave Ratchet another once over, humming thoughtfully. He carefully checked a clock on the wall, then looked between the two of them. "I don't know if I got time, Ironhide. I gotta go relieve Fusion of Knock Out duty, given she's had him eight joors now and has to get to work." He answered, putting his hands on his hips before pointing a clawed finger at Ratchet. "And he looks like he'll need a lot more than a minor touch-up."

"Forgot you got a sparkling now. How's sirehood?" Ironhide asked.

"Heh, its a right pain in the aft most days. But I love the little bugger." Thruster explained with a chuckle. "Named him Knock Out because he's got knock-out good looks, just like his sire."

Ratchet repressed laughter. This mech was so eccentric. "I like it." Ironhide nodded. "Now, I really would appreciate it if you'd just do me this favor. Ratchet here is starting at Siren's clinic and imagine how many mechs and femmes you'll get in here if they know you pulled off this transformation."

Thruster stroked his chin, looking Ratchet over again. Said mech wasn't sure how he felt about being an advertisement in that way. But if it meant that he no longer looked like he'd been through a war and lost, he supposed it wasn't a big deal. "Well, it's gonna be more than a touch-up. I can probably fix the plating good as new too." Thruster explained, examining it closely. "Gonna take a joor at least though. So if Fusion gets angry, you're the one explaining."

Ratchet spoke up. "I don't know if I'm-"

"Yeah, you don't like charity, I know. But you'll deal." Ironhide replied. "Don't make me threaten to tell Siren we can't work together."

"You're a pit spawn." Ratchet shot back.

"You'll thank me later."

Of course, he didn't really believe him when he was lead away by Thruster. Could this mech really make him fit in?

* * *

"Wow, you look good touched up!"

Ratchet felt shy as he made his way back out to the floor a joor and a half later. Begrudgingly, he had to agree that the mech had done a good job. The mech had painted him the same colors his frame came with, at his request, but the paint now shone just as colorful as Ironhide's. All the dings had been buffed out, making it look good as new rather than hand-me-down level. Thruster had offered to add cool decals and tattoos, but Ratchet had gone for this, the simple look. Finally, he'd given him new optics. When one made their way up a caste, they got new ones. Most in the high caste got blue optics, so he had gone out of his way to make sure Ratchet's red ones were replaced with blue. That had been the strangest change. But stepping out of the building afterward? That had been the most awkward, nerve-wracking part.

He tried not to look too out of place, given he was supposed to be a high caste mech now. But he still felt as though he was gonna stick out like a sore thumb. "Well, thanks, but I'm not sure what I think of it." Ratchet replied honestly. "I mean, I might look like a high caste mech, but people will tell, won't they? I don't carry myself the same way, do I?"

Ironhide shook his head, poking the mech in the chest. "Will ya relax? Have we really not taught ya that not all high caste people act stuck up?" He asked. "Did I not just keep my word? Even paid for the dents, and the optic change." Ratchet lowered his head. "C'mon, you gotta at least make a friend. And I ain't that bad a choice."

That finally got a smile out of Ratchet. OK, maybe this Ironhide guy wasn't SO bad. Though he still wasn't sure if he was making a mistake. "Very well, but if you blow it, don't expect me to forgive you very easily." Ratchet explained. "I've had enough so-called "friends" show their true faceplates."

Ironhide smirked, smacking Ratchet on the back. "Ain't gonna happen from here on out. I can promise ya that. Because anybody who screws with ya, deals with me. I like your spirit, so I figure I want to keep ya around for a long time."

Ratchet was silent, then stared up at the sky. Realizing how late it was getting, he turned to Ironhide. "I think that I am supposed to be getting to supper in the next half an hour. Will Siren and Mixplate worry?" He questioned.

"Probably, but yer an adult now, right? Can't get too mad." Ironhide shrugged. "C'mon, I know a shortcut to their place. I'll have ya home before they worry too bad."

Ratchet reluctantly followed him on his shortcut. Though honestly, it seemed pretty long to Ratchet despite the fact that they got to the home without him being too late. "See, what did I tell ye? Three minutes late and that's it." Ironhide replied. "They're hardly going to recognize you."

Ratchet, for the third time, looked in the window. His reflection, or what was now his reflection, staring back at him. And as if to think out loud, Ratchet spoke quietly. " _I_ barely recognize myself." Then after a moment. "So I guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow at work?"

"Count on it! Hey, maybe after work I'll take ya to meet my femme." Ironhide replied. "We can go introduce you to our side of the city, if you want?"

Ratchet knew Iacon well, so he didn't really need too much of a tour. But he also realized he didn't know much about the higher sectors of the city. And besides... Hanging out with Ironhide hadn't been too bad. "Perhaps. I don't suppose I have much to worry about with her either?"

"Chromia? Nah! She's a real sweetspark. Just don't mess with her temper, and you're good." Ironhide nodded a bit. "Good orn, Ratchet."

"Good orn, Ironhide."

As the mech started off towards his own home, Ratchet thought things over. He certainly hoped that this first friend of his was the right one to make.


End file.
